TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 49 (RAW)

Chapter 49 - The Dragonslayer

A prototype forged in the last gasps of the Cataclysm, the Ballista was assembled in defiance of both military regulation and sacred ordinance. Its frame was not cast in mere steel or synthetics. Instead, it was built from the fallen remains of Xenodraconis invaders—the scaled titans whose flesh resisted our weapons, whose bones defied entropy, whose sinews thrummed with residual power. Where most later Nex Frames were fabricated in sterile orbital foundries or similar zero-G environments, the Ballista was hewn from myth.

Designed under the clandestine oversight of what was later dubbed the Dragonslayer Project, it was a joint initiative between Voss Heavy Industries and Ingram Securities. The project was an answer to an unanswered question: What if we built a war machine not only to kill dragons—but from them?

- Chronicles of the Cataclysm by Professor Elaine de Laney.

Seraphina ducked and slid into the prototype’s coffin-shaped cockpit, silk skirts whispering across dark grey alloys. The hatch clamped shut on hydraulic pistons, sealing out the hangar’s distant clangor and trapping her in the dark red gloom of the standby lighting. Questing hands searching, she found the master ignition by touch; one decisive flick ignited the gloom in a pulse of blue luminescence.

“Unit Zero Ballista Initialization sequence engaged. Main reactor—initializing. Weapons linking—initializing. Sensorium—initializing,” the sub-AI reported, its voice flat and feminine. 

Suddenly, before her eyes, expanded a panoramic view of the hangar—the convenience of advanced, fictional technology.

She placed the Sceptre of Wisdom between her legs, locking it in place with a strap, and cinched the five-point harness around her torso and waist. Settling in, she felt the cockpit’s seat hardened around her, ribs of adaptive polymer locking against her spine. Concentric rings of green light strobed outward, each a measured heartbeat, and she could feel Dragonslayer stirring from its centuries of slumber.

“Reactor containment at ninety-one-point-seven percent,” the sub-AI continued. “Minor decay within tolerances. Ethereum fuel banks are at one hundred percent. Reactor online. Weapons online. All systems nominal.”

Status screens flared from a warning crimson to healthy blue, unveiling the cavernous hangar. Around the Ballista, maintenance drones continued to hover and flock around, engaged as they were in last-minute checks and adjustments. 

The facility’s GAI cut in on a command channel, its tone iron-flat. “Strategic sweep confirms Xenodraconis entity, mass category Seven, bearing zero-three-one. Time to breach local aerospace: fifty-eight minutes,” it warned.

“Deploy every functioning defense grid emplacement,” Seraphina ordered quickly. “Fire on acquisition.”

“Warning. Will not be to stop incursion of Xenodraconis entity,” the GAI replied. “Operational capacity of local defence grid: twenty-seven percent. Recommend continent-wide unlock and networking of all facilities.”

“Too slow. Oh, and negative to networking, but allow timed interval release of facilities from imposed lockdown. Too slow,” the young girl commanded, letting frustration color her voice. “Use orbital assets to dissuade the entity. Initiate Orbital Pattern Delta—password Delta Five Six, Hammer of the Gods.”

“Orbital assets degraded. Coordinated strike probability: eight percent.” A pause, ancient processors grinding. “Prototype Unit Zero: Ballista remains the only viable interceptor. Calculated success rate: thirteen percent. Projected pilot fatality: eighty-three percent.”

The sub-AI resumed, clinically. “Vernier engines exceed current human pilot’s G-force tolerance. Safety limiters recommended.”

“Negative. Full output.”

“Limiter override acknowledged. Risk of catastrophic physiological trauma: extreme.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Seraphina's breath rasped through clenched teeth. “Begin synchronization.”

“Current configuration is set to neuro-cortical total integration,” the Nex’s system intoned. “Recommendation: engage AI assistance for subroutine management—”

“Negative,” she snapped. Seraphina de Sariens did not cheat.

“Warning: proceeding without AI support will place extreme stress on the biological neural cortex. Predicted symptoms include nausea, cognitive disorientation, coronary failure, acute anxiety—”

“Do not make me repeat myself,” she growled. “No limiters. No AI aimbots.”

She toyed with a red ruby earring, fingers absently tracing its smooth curve. Her thoughts wandered back to the days within the Trial—how she had bartered one of her earrings for the goodwill and aid of the peasants. When she emerged victorious, it had been returned to her, polished and intact. That was the rule of the Trials of the Goddess: you left with everything you brought in, and only what the Trial deemed you worthy to gain.

She had tried to cheat the system before, and it had not worked. To this moment, it had been a source of vexation. Perhaps by setting the difficulty to the absolute maximum, she could reap greater rewards.

“You may wish to relax for this. Neural mesh engagement commencing.” Blue latticework crawled across her, penetrating flesh and thought alike. Her pulse hammered as the machine’s cold awareness bled into her own. 

The reactor became her heart, she could feel it pulse with raw Mana. There was rhythm, a song, that she knew the melody if only she could find the notes of command and surrender.

The war suit’s AI chimed. “Link integrity reaching eighty percent… eighty-seven…”

As the Mana of the New—the first Dragonslayer—intertwined with her own, a surge rippled through both. Her Mana touched its core, and in turn, it touched hers. The dull grey armor plating shimmered, flooding with rich crimson, its edges trimmed in a deep, resplendent gold.

Unit Zero: Ballista became a part of her, and she became a part of it.

“Synchronization complete,” the AI’s voice concluded with a monotone finality. “Administrator, please proceed to the launch cradle. Plotting intercept course now.”

Seraphina lifted the war-suit’s massive left leg and felt her perception of reality stutter. The command left her mind clean and sharp, but it was only a breath later that the limb obeyed, armor servos whining a muted harmony. The fractional delay tugged at her sense of balance, as if her thoughts were sprinting while her body trudged behind. She drew another rasping breath, the reactor flared, and willed calm into a pulse that hammered in counter-rhythm to the Nex Frame’s bright thrum.

She took a second step. The deck plates of the hangar shuddered beneath the Ballista’s weight, tremors reverberating up through HEA alloy greaves into her spine. Blue latticework still flickered at the edge of vision, a ghostly afterimage mapping neural pathways as they fused with Frame’s circuits. The lag eased, only slightly, but enough for her to feel the suit learning her cadence, sculpting those fractions of hesitation into something dangerously close to instinct.

“Adaptive latency now eight-four milliseconds,” the Nex’s sub-AI reported. “Compensatory algorithms converging. Recommend progressive motion to accelerate blend.”

Seraphina rolled her shoulders; harvested Xenodraconic muscles beneath thick armor plate imitated the motion with a faint hiss. Even that small gesture carried a sense of colossal inertia, like steering a thunderhead. She forced herself forward. Each stride shortened the disorienting drag, mind and metal negotiating a shared tempo. She could almost feel her mind straining, but by the time she reached the launch cradle’s illuminated threshold, crimson-gold armor felt less like a prison and more like an echo—heavy, yes, but echoing her every thought with growing precision. Man, or rather woman, and machine were becoming one.

You have gained 1 Intelligence.

The strain eased a fraction. Seraphina had been correct; with greater difficulty came a greater reward.

“Link stability ninety-two percent,” the AI intoned. “Intercept trajectory calculated. Elevating cradle in three… two…”

Seraphina set her jaw. The suit’s reactor thrummed in perfect counterpoint to her heartbeat—two drums forging a single rhythm of war. As the massive bay doors groaned open, ancient rocks dislodged from the ceiling, tumbling down in slow defiance of time. Beyond them, the bright blue sky of late autumn was split by warning klaxons and the strobe of crimson lights.

She flexed her fingers. In response, Ballista’s colossal hands tightened around the hilt of its greatsword, metal echoing her will and her purpose.

On a whim, she struck forward—the motion smooth and identical to how it had been in the game. The great blade carved through the air with effortless grace, spinning in a practiced flourish before settling back into its resting position. It was as natural as breathing. Seraphina exhaled slowly, and the Ballista vented built-up heat.

She was ready to slay a Dragon.

Triumphant grin on her face, the young girl locked the Dragonslayer’s feet to the mag-rails of the launch cradle.  She steadied her pulse, felt the tremor of the reactor rise through bone and metal alike.

“Intercept trajectory calculated. Overlaying now. Good hunting, Administrator.”

“Unit Zero: Ballista, Administrator Seraphina de Sariens, Launch!” she shouted. The young girl simply could not help herself.

The launch rails roared to life beneath Ballista’s frame. Seraphina keyed the vernier thrusters; they answered with a blinding flare, harmonizing with the cradle’s rising surge of power. A heartbeat later, she was hurled skyward with the fury of a ravenous god, G-forces crashing against her. As the GAI had predicted, an unaugmented body would have shattered under that onslaught—yet Seraphina’s flesh bore the touch of the Old Ones, tempering it into something more.

Then the violent tremor fell away, traded for the vast hush of the open sky. Ballista’s wings angled, thrusters whispering as they trimmed her ascent. Below, the fortress shrank to a scatter of slate and stone; above, only an endless sapphire vault awaited. Weight bled from her bones, replaced by a wild, impossible lightness. The wind sang over armored plates, and for the first time since sealing herself inside this iron giant, Seraphina felt unfettered and free.

The Dragonslayer—she, Seraphina de Sariens heir to the Sariens Duchy—was aloft, and the rush of freedom tasted impossibly sweet as her wings spread wide. Yet flight proved far more demanding than any simple stride or sword stroke. Vectors, thrust curves, and wind shear flooded her senses, each needing instant calculation. However, she had honed her mind partly for just such a trial, and now it raced along the ragged edge of overload. Just a half-step from madness. Then Crystal’s cool luminance flooded her thoughts, sharpening every equation, every instinct, giving her focus. Balance returned. The sky became a chessboard of possibilities, and Seraphina moved across it with lethal grace.

You have gained 1 Dexterity.

You have gained 1 Intelligence.

Seraphina snapped into an evasive roll, angling her main thrusters. Secondary nozzles along Ballista’s frame flared in harmony, and the maneuver unfolded with flawless grace.

“Warning: such maneuvers will reduce operational time,” the sub-AI intoned.

Of course, she remembered. It was one of Ballista’s major flaws. Its immense power, speed, and strength came at a steep cost—it consumed Ethereum fuel at a frightening pace. In short, it wasn’t a very efficient unit.

Enough games.

Seraphina aligned Ballista with the GAI’s projected intercept course. From the hills of Meridian, fire lanced through the sky—ancient, long-buried air defenses roaring back to life as they targeted the mother Dragon, come to reclaim its stolen egg.

The young noblewoman muttered a curse. If she ever got her hands on that damned egg, she swore she would fry it into an omelette for all the trouble it had caused. All her carefully laid plans, her meticulous preparation, all threatened by a flying lizard’s maternal instincts. Couldn’t the silly creature just lay another? That’s what chickens did, after all.

“Eat everything!” chirped Cornelia, her small voice alight with excitement.

“Yes, my pet,” Seraphina replied softly, a smile tugging at her lips. “We will most certainly eat everything. I do intend to feed you Dragonsteak before the day is through.”

She narrowed Ballista’s wings of living metal, drawing the unit closer to the raging storm ahead, where the air defenses lanced skyward in defiance of the approaching Skylord. But then the feed from the Sensorium’s external cameras began to scroll across her vision. The young noblewoman felt a very unsettling spike of fear, a spike of fear which she forcefully pushed down.

What she saw was impossible—she thought, half disbelieving her eyes.

No, it simply could not be.

The flying creature not merely large, but wrong—as if reality on the display strained to contain it. The game, it seemed, had not just raised the difficulty; it had utterly broken it. This would be the kind of fight that mocked strategy or cunning ploys. It was the sort of challenge that required an almost masochistic level of determination to overcome over many tries.

But Seraphina had but one life, but one chance.

To defeat that, she would need more than just a flawless play to overcome such a cruel challenge—she would need a miracle.